NYC'S COMPETENCE MEASURED IN INCHES

This might be an appropriate time for Mike Bilandic to give some friendly career counseling to rookie New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani.

Mr. Bilandic could explain to Mr. Giuliani that he is a living example of how a little precipitation can change one's career path. Back in 1979, Mr. Bilandic was mayor of Chicago and headed for almost certain re-election when the snow started falling across the city.

Mr. Bilandic today wears the black robes of a judge only because the city's Streets and Sanitation Department didn't handle the snow removal efficiently. Even the Chicago Transit Authority had trouble operating its elevated lines. While Mayor Bilandic was saying that everything was under control, Chicagoans couldn't navigate their cars on the city's side streets.

The rest is history. The feisty Jane Byrne won the Democratic primary and eventually became mayor of Chicago. After years of being attacked unsuccessfully by the flaccid Republican organization, the legendary Chicago Democratic Machine was finally brought to its knees by Mother Nature. I am referring to the snow, not to Jane Byrne.

Ever since then, Chicago mayors have been super-sensitive about handling snow. When the first few flakes fall, an army of city workers is called on to stamp out the menace.

Virtually every city vehicle, except the mayor's limo, is fitted with a snow plow and sent out on a three-shift search-and-destroy mission. In the middle of the night on downtown streets, snow is loaded into huge trucks and dumped into the river.

Enough salt is poured on the streets to melt the North Pole and corrode every car on the planet. The white residue after a Chicago snowfall is not remaining snow. It is dried salt.

A couple of weeks ago, after a modest snowfall, a city snow plow was spotted on North Lake Shore Drive. Since there was little snow, all one could see were flying sparks as the plow scraped the already clean pavement.

This is not the case in New York, as I learned recently. I landed in New York two days after the city had received a moderate snowfall of about seven inches.

Maybe it is because I am accustomed to Chicago's snow removal virtuosity, but it appeared that nothing had been done to deal with the snow except talk about it. A city that is often paralyzed by a presidential visit or by drizzle needs more than talk.

At the corner of 42nd Street and Lexington, the mixture of snow and slush was ankle deep at the pedestrian crossing. This is right outside Grand Central Station. I wondered how many thousands of commuters would struggle through the mess and how easy it would be for the city to send a single worker with a shovel to clear the path.

This situation was not uncommon. Most of the crossing lanes, even in the heart of Manhattan, were perilous quagmires for pedestrians. The centers of the streets were almost as bad.

On Third Avenue, between 42nd and 41st streets, the snow was hubcap-deep. Cabs were plowing laboriously through the snow, skidding and sliding even more than they do on dry pavement.

New Yorkers said the situation was even worse in the other boroughs.

I remarked to a New Yorker that I was surprised at the poor condition of the streets two days after a moderate snow.

He said they had trouble plowing because the city puts heavy metal plates on the streets to temporarily cover potholes and work sites. And they are always working on New York streets. The plates make plowing hazardous, if not impossible.

The problem I detected was that another storm was coming, one that would eventually dump another 13 inches of snow in Central Park. By the end of that storm, the city obviously was even more paralyzed. At one time, I saw a fellow surrealistically cross-country skiing on Second Avenue, normally one of the city's busiest thoroughfares.

I saw something else that may indicate why New Yorkers can't deal with snow. When it snows, most New Yorkers take out their umbrellas.

Chicagoans, who know the difference between rain and snow, don't do this. We take out our shovels.